


Comfort Level

by LikeATeddyBear



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Sexual Situations, Crack?, Fluff, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-03 01:34:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/375602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LikeATeddyBear/pseuds/LikeATeddyBear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock was never fond of his own bed. He put up with it, but it felt so clinical to him. It felt like Mycroft giving him a reassuring pat on the head when he was a kid – awkward and stiff; annoying and nearly unavoidable."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort Level

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Fanart](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/7667) by GTB. 



> It's inspired by a fanart, but please only look at it after you're done reading. I like the element of surprise, if you'd please.

In a situation where one is uncomfortable in their bed at night, what would this person choose to do? Well, it really depends on the situation. Is this person too cold? Too warm? Is their bed covered in crumbs from a midnight snack? Is their bed just generally uncomfortable?

Or, well, maybe there’s something on that bed. There’s something on that bed that that one person just can’t seem to find. He or she has torn the bed apart, changed the sheets, flipped the mattress, done every single thing, yet there is still something on that bed. What does one do? Why, pile thing on top, of course. Pile cover over cover over cover – you get the point.

Well, not so coincidentally, that has something to do with our story.

Sherlock was never fond of his own bed. He put up with it, but it felt so clinical to him. It felt like Mycroft giving him a reassuring pat on the head when he was a kid – awkward and stiff; annoying and nearly unavoidable.

You see, Sherlock’s nature was, of course, never sleeping when he had a case – things were too important; anything could happen at any second – and promptly sleeping for at least 13 hours as soon as his head would hit a pillow afterwards. He hated it – sleep was a waste of time – but he couldn’t say it wasn’t refreshing. He certainly needed it.

The problem was that Sherlock hated his new bed. It came with the flat, really, and it was nice of Mrs. Hudson to have pre-furnished, but Sherlock hated it.

It pretty much all started with Sherlock sleeping on the couch instead of his bed.

Surely, John must have noticed this. It was a little hard to miss when your flatmate was sprawled out and snoring on the sofa – especially when said flatmate “never sleeps,” according to many sources. However, if he did notice this (and of course he did), he certainly never said anything about it (only smirked and took pictures for blackmailing purposes that he would probably never actually have the heart to pull).

Eventually, Sherlock’s bed wasn’t a place he ended up in unless he somehow was put there by someone else (John) while unconscious. In most cases, this was something case-related. Drugged? He ended up in his own bed. Knocked unconscious? He ended up in his own bed. He only trusted John to doctor him, and John apparently agreed with him, as he very rarely ended up in a hospital.

However, in a few instances, Sherlock would wake up in his bed when he knew for a fact he had fallen asleep on the couch.

“Did you,” he had started on one morning after waking up in his bed, staring at John intently from his bedroom door as John read the paper. John glanced up at him.

“Yes,” he had very matter-of-factly replied before turning the page.

“Why?” Sherlock had questioned.

In most instances, John said the exact same thing.

“You fell off the couch and started whimpering like a kicked puppy.”

Eventually, Sherlock was sick of that happening – whether he remembered it or not.

That’s when he decided the couch was not for him.

The night when it happened, John had gone to bed. Sherlock had scoffed; they were on a case and NEARLY finished with it, at that. John didn’t even have work the next day! He could sleep in, yet he was still going to bed at three in the morning like he didn’t have better things to do.

Sherlock had scoffed even more when he finished the case, considering it was only four in the morning. Just another hour. He could have stayed up just one more hour and everything would have been fine.

That’s when Sherlock heaved a sigh and moved into his room. He stripped and pulled on his pajamas, lying down and pulling the covers up to his chin. After five whole seconds of trying to sleep, he could clearly tell that it wasn’t going to work.

He stood up and walked slowly out of his room into the quiet flat. The clock was ticking, the heater was clicking, and the slight wind outside was whooshing around the building. He stared at the couch for a while, frowning. He didn’t want it to happen again. He couldn’t look at John’s passive face again as he informed him, yet again, that he had carried Sherlock to his bed.

Sherlock KNEW he had to have done SOMETHING while he had been asleep. Did he draw on his face? No, Sherlock checked that every morning just in case. Had he taken pictures? Maybe, even worse, he had just sat there and laughed at him for a while – Maybe, worse yet, Sherlock talked in his sleep and John had been asking him questions! God forbid.

Not that Sherlock thought John would betray his trust in any of those ways. Well, maybe laugh at him. John could be rude, too, you know.

In any case, the couch wasn’t going to work, either. Never again.

So, with that, Sherlock walked slowly up the stairs, feeling his body protesting and complaining the whole way. He pushed John’s door open quietly (thank God it was a quiet door) and walked in, closing the door behind him with a very soft click.

He was extremely tired, so he can be forgiven for staring at John’s sleeping form, which was mesmerisingly lit very slightly by the one broken part of his blinds, shining in the lights of the night. After a while, his eyes were drawn to the empty part of the bed – which, admittedly, might have been a little hard to find, considering John was very spread out on his bed (attack of the limbs).

He maneuvered his way very carefully over John, who apparently slept on the side of the bed NOT pressed up against the wall, and wrapped his arms around the pillow that was there for him.

Oh, yes. Yes, John’s bed was so much better than both the couch and Sherlock’s bed. It was soft, comfortable, warm… Although…

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John for a few more moments. He was sure that John was warmer than he was, considering John had been sleeping for an hour already and Sherlock had only just crawled into the bed.

He glared at John. How dare he be cozily warm while Sherlock was lying there – nearly shivering? That’s what Sherlock thought to himself, anyway, ignoring the fact that he wasn’t even very cold at all. He gave a tiny, unheard huff.

“Oh, Sherlock,” he breathed almost silently. “Are you cold? Here, I have some warmth to spare!”

“Why, thank you, John,” he answered himself before moving with a determined look on his face, lifting himself up and lying carefully on top of John, lying his head on top of John’s chest so that he would be able to hear his heartbeat.

Sherlock became aware of two things in that moment.

1\. John had woken up right when Sherlock had finished carefully getting settled on top of him, and

2\. John was very normal, in the sense that he apparently sometimes woke up with a certain part of him already wide awake. (And this was one of those times.)

John cleared his throat.

Sherlock stayed very still.

John cleared his throat again and Sherlock listened to his heartbeat racing.

“Erm, Sherlock?” Sherlock was too shocked to appreciate the way John’s voice cracked.

“Yes, John?”

“Why are you lying on top of me?”

The room was very silent for a very long time.

“Sherlock, why are you on top of me?” John asked again.

“I want to sleep.”

“Right… So, you came in here and decided that I looked like a good place to do that, did you? Sherlock- I’m sorry, I’m sure you’ve noticed, this is very uncomfortable.”

“Yes.”

“So, if you wouldn’t mind moving?”

“Yes.”

“Great,” John began, putting his hands on Sherlock’s arms.

“I said yes – yes, I do mind,” Sherlock said, lifting his head and scowling at John. “I’m cold, you’re warm, my bed’s uncomfortable, and your bed is comfortable.”

“And the couch?”

“No. I keep… No.” Sherlock put his head back down.

“Alright,” John said slowly, extremely annoyed. “Well, uh, this…”

“Yes, you’ve said, I’ve said, it’s very uncomfortable.”

“Yeah, it’s awkward, so-“

“What? No! Uncomfortable- I meant – Not awkward, it’s not awkward – are you an idiot?”

John scowled.

“Oh, I’m so sorry that my- …that I’m not a comfortable bed. Why don’t you just get off of me, then?”

“I only just settled down. I can fix this. I’m sure it can’t be a difficult thing to fix.”

There was another long stretch of silence.

“Eh, what? I’m sorry?” John blinked hard a few times and cleared his throat again. Sherlock lifted his head and stared at him.

“You heard me.”

“What exactly do you plan on doing?” John breathed out. Sherlock stared at him thoughtfully for a second before his eyes lit up.

“I’ve got an idea!” He jumped off of John and opened the door carefully.

“Oh, have you?” John asked as Sherlock left the room. Sherlock reappeared less than a minute later with apparently every blanket and pillow in the house. John stared at him. “What are you doing, Sherlock?”

Sherlock hushed him and flung the sheets off of him. John yelped in surprise, sitting up, but Sherlock gently pushed on his shoulders and John relaxed into the bed again. Sherlock then lifted a pile of blankets and carefully put them on top of John. John watched him in confusion.

“What the hell are you doing, Sherlock?”

Sherlock was on the 5th blanket when he decided it might be alright for him to lie back down. He did, nuzzling his head against John’s chest again, and they stayed like that for a few seconds.

“Uh, Sherlock-“

“Not enough,” Sherlock snapped, getting up again and putting the rest of the blankets on top of John. John glared at him, looking very cocooned. Sherlock lied down on top of him again, pulling the comforter over them.

They were silent again for a while.

“Sherlock, it’s boiling hot under all of these blankets, not even mentioning you lying on top of them,” John grumbled, squirming quite a bit. Sherlock was still for a very long time before he let out a grumbling sigh.

“It still didn’t work,” Sherlock said.

“What didn’t work, Sherlock? What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m still uncomfortable because of your erection.” John stared at him in disbelief.

“Well, that makes two of us!” John yelped, a little hysterically. Sherlock sighed again and got off of John. John began to move, but then Sherlock was piling pillows on top of him. “Sherlock! Stop it!”

When Sherlock ran out of blankets and pillows, he had quite a bit of trouble getting back on top of John, but he managed and pulled the blanket back on top of them.

He stared down at John, who was looking up at him with a glare.

“What?” John snapped. Sherlock scrunched up his nose.

“It’s still…”

“God, you’re like the princess and the pea! This is stupid! Get off of me and sleep next to me instead, if you insist on sleeping on my bed!”

Sherlock watched him for a second before a laugh escaped his mouth.

“What?” John snapped yet again. “What are you laughing at, you lunatic?”

“Well, you look ridiculous. Not only that, but I’ve realised that, in any case, it was more comfortable without any of these blankets or pillows.”

John tried not to grin, he tried to stay angry, as he shifted violently, causing Sherlock to lose his balance and fall off of the bed. John shoved all of the blankets on top of Sherlock and tried to cool off.

Surprisingly, the whole ordeal had only really lasted a minute or two.

Sherlock shoved the blankets away and crawled back over John, lying next to him. They both stared at the ceiling for a while before, not being able to help it, they began to giggle. They glanced over at each other with grins.

“You finished the case, then?” John asked as the giggles died down. Sherlock didn’t think he needed to answer that, so he just turned towards John and rested his head on John’s chest again.

“Much better,” Sherlock sighed, his eyes slipping closed to the soothing sound of John’s heart.

“What are you talking about?” John asked warily, still smiling.

“Your heartbeat,” Sherlock muttered, surrounded and comfortable. The last thing Sherlock was aware of before falling asleep was John lightly playing with his hair.


End file.
